


Lucky Scars

by Al_D_Baran



Series: FrUk Spring Festival 2016 [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, FrUkSpringFestival2k16, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_D_Baran/pseuds/Al_D_Baran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young magician tries to help a young man he fell in love with through the help of ink spells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Theme : Modern Magic AU
> 
> Rating : General
> 
> Warnings: Needle mentions I guess? There’s tattooing inside so.
> 
> Disclaimer: If you really love me you’re gonna buy me the Hetalia rights.
> 
> Summary: A young magician tries to help a young man he fell in love with through the help of ink spells.
> 
> Length: 1790 words

The first time Francis sees him in his shop, Francis is positively charmed.

Not charmed as he’s fallen in love already, but charmed by the boy’s green hair, looking around the pink wallpapers of the walls, touching the printed, lace-like designs of the shop with amazed eyes. The boy doesn’t even have a lip ring, nothing, his skin as virgin as the first snow of winter, a perfect canvas littered with only a few constellations of freckles over his cheeks and neck. Francis guesses summer makes it much worse than it usually is, but that teen is no more than a scared bunny next to his tall, muscular, red-headed brother Francis knows from University.

“C’mon, get those snake bites you wanted, uh?” Ailein says gruffly, looking at Francis with a little smile.

The kid glares, then turns to Francis again, no more than fifteen, watching the small stretches in the Frenchman’s ears, revealed by his tied hair.

“Does it hurt a lot?” he asks, looking at the selection of piercings in the glass counter as Francis pulls out a paper for Ailein, handing it to him with a pen. Since his brother is younger than eighteen, he needs an adult to agree for him to get pierced.

When he turns back to him, Francis kisses the tip of his fingers, charging them with just enough energy so the pain will be numbed, placing them on the boy’s forehead. “No, it doesn’t too much, I’ve heard. I’ve never had those, but I heard that it was very bearable. Plus, I’m an expert, so you don’t have to worry about anything, my dear.”

.

.

.

The next time Arthur comes, Francis has almost forgotten about him. He’s heard Ailein moved back to Scotland with his brothers and sisters, the sight of their house now that their parents aren’t their being too much for him to bear. He doesn’t recognizes the boy at first when he walks into his London shop, the chubbiness of his teenage years gone from his features to replace a lanky, scrawny young man, still sporting a punk look, with a guitar case on his back.

Francis smiles wide, standing up to meet the boy with a wide smile.

“Hello! How are you, my dear? Is there something I can do for you?”

Arthur looks down, playing with his lip ring before he adds, “Um… you don’t recognize me? It’s Arthur… you know, Ailein’s little brother?”

“Oh!” Francis laughs then, clapping happily. “You’ve grown quite a bit! I didn’t even recognize you!”

He could almost feel jealous when the young man comes to him, rubbing his neck with a little smile. His right ear is clearly visible as the side of his head is shaved, showing an industrial on the tip of it, in the form of an arrow – he didn’t do that and he feel oddly possessive, something he hasn’t felt for any other client.

“Um, I’ve been good… Ailein too. I’m uh… back in London for my studies and uh… I wanted you to tattoo me,” Arthur says, pulling the sleeves of his shirt back to his elbows.

“Oh! That’s nice, my dear. And what do you want?”

Arthur beams up at that, growing a little more voluble as he can talk of his project, “Well, I play in a band called Hybristophilia.” Francis isn’t too surprised at the name, seeing how Arthur looks with the spiky labrets and the alternative hairstyle, but nods slowly. “So um… I’d want an electric guitar. A six-string like I own and I play at shows.”

Now Francis understands why Arthur brought the case. He places it on the glass table, opening it to reveal his prized possession – its looks like a shattered mirror and Francis can’t help but gasps, thinking his young client must look quite handsome like this.

“Well, that sounds really nice! Where do you want it?”

Arthur’s cheeks redden a little before he looks at him with a shy little smile, “Uh… my arse.”

.

.

.

Francis hid a few enchantments in the tattoo to make sure Arthur would never have stage fright, adding a little bit of confidence in the red ink of a stroboscope he drew reflecting in the six-string. Arthur invites him, free of charge, to his next concert and Francis, even though he is more a folk hipster alternative guy than an angry, rebellious punk, accepts gladly.

Arthur is almost shining under the lights of the bar, pouring his heart out in covers and original songs and Francis can feel his heart beat hard in his chest, feeling every notes inside of him. There’s something magical about music that his own magic will never be able to reproduce and it’s a damn shame because it’s been an eternity since he felt better than listening to Arthur’s hoarse Alt-J cover of his favourite song.

.

.

.

Slowly, Arthur becomes his favourite subject, his favourite fresco. Even though he loves the young man’s freckles, Arthur hates them ash he’s been teased relentlessly about them, covering those on his left arm with a skeleton in an armour, as he knows his family descends from knights. Francis can’t help but think that’s where the noble look he has comes from, adding another little spell in the runes he draws on the banner to give the Brit good luck.

Arthur comes back once every few weeks, each time his new art is healed to get something else. Francis quickly learns the boy is in University in English literature, passionate of poetry and old books. He reads him the poems that inspire him new images and each time, Francis adds a little something to his ink. Good luck for an text, good luck on a date with a boy, a little more confidence for an oral or a concert…

Francis realizes much too late that he feels something too strong for the shy little boy that came in his shop all those years ago, just months before Arthur’s years is almost finished and he’ll be going back to Scotland for the summer. He’s heartbroken but he’s already almost thirty and Arthur is barely nineteen now. It feels wrong to feel like this… but he’s attached himself to him, now.

And there’s no magic to make an impossible love easier to bear.

.

.

.

Arthur comes back almost days before his departure, looking almost just as shy as the day he’s first come in his shop. It’s for an appointment Francis had been waiting for and smiles to him, eager to start inking his young friend. It’s something he loves particularly, rather Shakespearian – Arthur wants skulls and roses on his upper arm with a quill and feathers.

There’s nothing Francis loves more than roses – he’s got proof all over his arms and most of him, as he’s careful to add a little flower to a design anytime he can.

And Arthur wants _red_ roses, the flowers of love… Francis can feel the irony.

As he starts tracing the lines, Francis looks at Arthur, trying to strike up the conversation, since they will be stuck together for a few hours, “So… is there another reason than Shakespeare for those roses?”

The buzzing of the tattoo machine slowly lulls him into his work state of mind, focusing on keeping the lines as straight as possible, his hand unwavering as Francis focuses on it. Arthur lets out a blissful sigh at the feeling of the needle piercing his skin, not unlike an addict would have after a the smoke would have entered their lungs. Francis chuckles at that, understanding just how addictive ink can be… he _might_ have put a little something in this tattoo to make him come back.

“Yeah. Shakespeare. And I like someone. And they liked roses.”

Francis pouts at that, lifting his machine to dip it in ink again, wiping Arthur’s arms as he looks to him.

He’s jealous, but he can’t admit that just now, “And how are they?”

“Pretty hot, I’d say. Kinda… y’know, like me,” Arthur says, toying with his lip ring, cheeks growing a little red as he looks away. “I really hope they’ll like it.”

Francis can only smile, snapping his fingers as he hums as song once he dips the gun back into ink again – he’s in love, yes, but he wants Arthur to have all the luck in the world with this new conquest and he adds it to the red ink.

Red like love.

Or pain, he thinks.

.

.

.

Once the art is done, Francis admires his traditional-style masterpiece, wrapping it in clear bandages, happy to see Arthur look at it with stars in his eyes. The Frenchman is so happy to see he’s pleased that he almost forgets to make him pay – he apologizes, it’s so late and Arthur’s going away the next day…

The teen leans against the counter, digging in his pocket to take out a piece of paper as he stares at the words written on it, then crumples it in his hand.

“Have you lost your money?” Francis asks with an eyebrows raised, tiredly opening the tin chest he keeps the money in as Arthur looks to him, as if trying to find his words.

“I… I feel it, you know?”

“Feel what?” Francis asks, rubbing an eye as he looks at the Brit.

“The magic.”

The Frenchman feels himself stop entirely, his heart even missing a beat. Arthur… he’s always known? Did he just notice? Is he going  to leave and never come back?

“Oh, I… I… I just… I’m sorry, it really wasn’t big spells, I..”

Under his eyes, Arthur rips the piece of paper to squeeze it in his hand again, opening it to show him a rose, blooming right under his eyes, inside the Brit’s hands.

Francis gasps, Arthur placing the rose in his hand with a little smile. “I felt it, you know? You, casting that confidence spell on me and to make my love a lucky one.” Arthur grins this time, looking at him with mischief as Francis can feel his cheeks redden. “So… thank you because… now I have the courage to tell you that…”

Arthur just kisses him sweetly, a soft little peck. His hands grip his forearms, as if to keep him from fleeing.

“There was never a need for you to make me think of coming back. I… I love you.”

Francis could cry in happiness, laughing relief and bliss as he hugs Arthur tightly, watching the rose he’s been given over the Brit’s shoulders, then kisses him again.

Truly, there is no magic that could have replicated what he’s feeling now – magic is limited, but love, however, is not.


End file.
